Gratitude 41--Thankful Again

"Is this ever going to get better?"

It's a question I've asked dozens of times in the last year. Once again yesterday morning the words tumbled from my mouth. It had been a rough two weeks when getting on top of the pain and confusion had taken more effort than usual and the "ups" weren't nearly as up as I had hoped, and they had not lasted very long.

I stared at Ann Voskamp's book on my coffee table. One Thousand Gifts. I had not made it to a thousand, and I couldn't remember when I had blogged about my gratitidue. In the last six months there had been so much pain and loss, and my gratitude was over such insignificant things such as hitting the green light when I was running later than I had intended or thanking God that dishes left in the sink did not make the world come to a halt. Petty things. Nobody really wanted to hear those.

But, they were my life preservers. They were the things that kept my head above water when I felt like everything else was caving down. They were...important to me.

The house got to hopping, and the thoughts were lost.

This morning I woke up to an email from a precious new friend a world away.

Hi Jerri

I woke up this morning thinking about you and God gave me a picture.  So, here goes:  I woke up and started praying for you and God gave me a picture of Paul and Silas in prison.  Although the bible doesn't fill the story out you could imagine them thinking about the unfairness of it and wondering why?  how?  where is God in this?  But the bible doesn't say that. It says that they sang praises to God and miraculously the prison door burst open and they were set free.  

I feel God is saying you are in a prison of emotional hurt and pain brought on by all you have been going through.   He wants you to sing praise to Him and not ask why? What have I done to deserve this?  how long?  where is all the support?  He wants you to praise Him and HE will miraculously break open that prison door.  It doesn't say in the bible how long they were in prison before the doors broke open.  Thats the tough bit.  Its also not a logical solution according to the world.  But in faith, Jerri, despite what you feel, by an act of your will, start doing it, even if you don't feel like it.

 Praise Him. 

Confirmation from a world away.

And a reminder...and a love note.

"Jerri, I so want you out of this dark place that I am telling you again. The key is praise. I'm not condemning you for forgetting. I know the darkness can obscure the light, so I'm sending the answer again because I want you free. I want you out of the prison. I'm fighting for you...reaching out to you...in this with you."

Wow.  

I considered the prison I had been in, the one I struggled with for 19 years, and the key God was giving me out, the powerful message He was sending, not just for the struggle of the last two weeks but the truth of a lifetime.

An hour later my friend Lisa sent me an email telling me what the Lord spoke to her when she prayed for me yesterday.

"I keep thinking about Paul and Silas..."

I laughed out loud.

"Jerri, do you get how much I am reaching in or how much I want to get you out? Grab hold of me. I am the answer."

I get it, Lord.

Thank you...for reaching in...for not letting go...for being here...now...with me...

And thank you for...

961. Anna's creativity--the newly decorated guest room is stunning

962. The ability to paint and redo the guest room

963.  Robert's piano playing....my word...

964. Tracy...a world away but so close to Your heart whose courage to share Your word with me blesses me more than words can say

965. 111

966. Sweet texts that give me a smile...especially right before I go to sleep

967.  Brian Hearn, who always sees the anointed side of me

968.  Painting with a Twist

969. Vanesa Stenberg...I could write a novel

970. A good night's sleep

971.  Scott helping with the ceiling fan

972.  Rae and her huge heart

973. Facebook

974. Tina Cox and the others at my insurance company

975. Val Roach, who sees and understands and has incredible patience

976.  Lisa Buffaloe, who calls from Idaho because she can't sit with me here

977. Snipers

978. Amelia the Brave, who likes the same things I do

979. Morning moments with Robert

980. Mowing yards

981. Karaoke

982. Forney Fire Department

983. Forney Wallgreens

984. The Cavalry

985. A new book

986. Confirmation

987. Giving thanks

988. Ann Voskamp

989. Coffee with sugar

990. Sharilyn reminding me that healing is in progress, stay on the trail

991. Wendy and friend love. Really.

992. John--NP0s, C-collars, non-rebreather masks, and re-inflating my ego

993. Anna's signature--"Singer, Actress, and All Around People Lover (That means YOU)"

994. Danny and Paige Granberry and the light being on for us

995. LDS church teaching people to serve and being the feet and hands of Jesus...even to those not in their church

996. Men's groups who trim limbs and fix floors

997. A REALLY GREAT DAY

998. Lori Moore and her prophetic encouragement

999. Being a blessing

1000. Being "a saint"

1001. Kenneth and Joy Jordan

1002. Texts from Kenneth
Me: We had a really great day.
Kenneth: *clinches fist with arm outstretched then pulls to his side* YESSS!

1003. Temperatures in the 60s

1004. Learning the in the hard places

1005. A good van

1006. Text messaging

1007. Emails from all over the world

1008.  Infinite gifts

And thank you for sharing and rejoicing with me.

Blessings to you as you enjoy YOUR gifts.

Reaching

There are limbs drooping low and scrubbing the shingles of my roof. They need to be trimmed.

In my children's bathroom is a hole in the floor where the linen closet is supposed to be. Three months ago I had a slab leak repaired. In the midst of everything going on, I have not had time to frame, drywall, tape, and paint it.

He is a senior pastor in his church, wants to know what he can do to help out. I tell him about the limbs and the floor and the heavy stuff I need moved in the backyard. He nods, tells me they are praying for the children and me, and doesn't call back.

We are friends of two decades, and he thinks I need to be in church. I'm in sin because I don't sit and listen to sermons every week. When he leaves, he comments that I need to get someone out there to remove the limbs from the roof.

It is a bad day, a painful day, the engulfing kind. I text, "Can you meet for coffee?" She would love to, but she has singles group and doesn't want to miss it. I should come. They are talking about how much God loves us, and it would be good for me to hear.

Oh, I hear.

I hear a lot.

I hear the contruction business owner who tells me he can't help with the bathroom repair because he isn't comfortable coming to the house of a single woman who "has no covering" but is happy to give me the name of a competitor.

I hear the friend who tells me how I need to depend on God and then says I should ask my church about having someone come trim the limbs.

I hear the woman who is "always here for you" but is so busy with various church activities that she can't find time to get together or even call me back.

I'm listening to the people who tell me I need to hear a sermon, read a book, get a worship CD, or take a class because I need to hear that God cares and is always here for me. At least some of the people have the courtesy to buy the book or CD for me. That is thoughtful and considerate.

Yes, I'm listening, and I'm taking notes.

If God ever allows me to be on staff at a church or allows me to have my own ministry, I want to do outreach, not just missions in other countries but right in my own backyard.

I want a list of the single parents, not just so I can plan vacations or parties for them but so my church can be the applied husband/father or helpmeet/mom for that family.

A single mom or widow should not have to call a prefessional to get handyman jobs done. Since when is the church so busy with meetings, Bible studies, and social agenda that no one has time to mow a yard, clean a sink trap, or drop off a meal?

And what about men who are trying to figure out school, meals, and girls’ hormones? What about those dads? Where are the spiritual moms who are also concerned with helping buy that first bra or explaining pads and tampons because of the first menstrual cycle or listening to a broken heart because "that boy" Dad can't stand still hurts when he's mean to tender heart? Who is helping by giving a favorite recipe Dad can use to make cookies for school or offering to pick up a child from school when he/she is sick?

Who do these people call at 2 am when their child’s fever is running 102 and they realize they are out of ibuprofen? Who makes them soup, drops by with a movie and pizza for the kids and sends the parent out the door for a much needed break? Who makes sure they have birthday cakes or that special party?

It should be people in the church.

Jesus never meant for the church to be a self-contained four-wall entity. He meant for it to be the helpmeet and husband on earth that God is in heaven. He never meant for us to need to hear a sermon or a Bible study to know God loves us. He meant for it to be obvious in the way we treat each other.

I want to know who the widows and widowers are, and I want them set into families who check on them, make sure they are eating, give them a place to go on holidays, drop a card in the mail for special days, talk to them regularly, find out if they have heat/air, if their basic needs are met.

It is an abomination to God that we can build bigger and fancier buildings for “worship” when His people who walk in those buildings are doing without basic needs. God is not a God of grand buildings but a God of great love.

He is not about seeing how big we can build

but about how far we can reach.

Because the world is reaching.

...reaching the end of their rope...

...reaching the end of their faith...

...reaching the end of their strength...

...reaching the end of their belief prayer makes a difference...

...reaching the end of hoping someone will actually care and reach back to them.

The limbs are still rubbing my roof.

The bathroom floor still has a hole in it.

I still feel utterly alone and am more disillusioned by the church than ever.

But I’m sure the right sermon will fix all that or the right Bible study or the right worship CD or book or….because after all, I just need to HEAR AGAIN that God loves me and is always there for me.

And yet, I have never felt so alone, and I wonder how many other people are out there who feel the same way but can't tell the difference between man and God and when abandoned by the former give up on the latter...

...because they never see Him reaching...

I Need

I just got a solid reprimand from a friend of mine. We've been friends since junior high, and we love each other...Sometimes love is hard.

Today he asked me how I would feel if I saw someone hurting badly, someone in need of help, but I could do nothing. He knows how I would feel. He knows that is my nightmare. He then said, "Jerri, I'm looking at you, and I can't help."

And he hates it.

Me, too.

It is a hard thing to feel like I'm looking out a glass window and there is no way to let anyone in, and I'm afraid to try to let anyone in because I'm afraid they will walk in and immediately start trying to clean things up and make it presentable according to their standards...according to what their life circumstances are...or  what ours used to be...who I used to be. And all that does is make me add another lock to my door and draw the curtain a bit tighter on the window.

Thus, the reprimand...with a confession. "I don't know what to do. Tell me what you need."

What do I need?

I need someone who will let me lean on them and cry without their trying to fix it or make me feel better or in some way make the tears stop. I need to lean on someone who will let me cry until I simply have no more tears

I need to be held close so I can melt...without having to worry about someone's agenda.

I need someone to sit with me and listen while I pour out my heart...as tangential and wandering as it may be.

I need people to quit telling me, "You need to..." when they obviously have no clue who I am or what settles my soul. Starbucks is just an overpriced cup of coffee in a loud environment with uncomfortable chairs. Coffee from a thermos outside under the stars is a lot cheaper and far more soothing to the soul.

I need a day on the water where I am only along for the ride and don't have to think.

I need a friend who likes what I like. It is really pretty depressing to fish, camp, kayak, hike, play pool, paint, and...alone.

I need to not hear, "You just need to get laid," anymore. Really? There are people getting laid all the time who are utterly miserable. Nameless sex would really make me feel better after the complete rejection I have felt since long before Rob left? (I will stop there. The next few sentences were...perhaps more honest than any of us really need.)

I need to breathe, not just breathe and get through the day or the situation or the moment...but breathe...and not feel like I'm holding my breath waiting for the next knock on my door in the middle of the night or the next person who isn't going to be talking to me but doesn't tell me that or explain why or the next person who just wants me fixed so they can feel better. I'm tired of holding my breath.

I need to just be touched...and for it to be okay...and not to feel like I have to be guarded because someone is going to question my motives or morals because I like the feel of a touch. Today someone touched me on the back. It was one of those I'm-here-and-I-don't-want-to-surprise-you-or-hurt-either-of-us-if-you-move kind of touches. Solid. Safe. Innocuous. Even with the intense situation we were in, I felt my whole body respond. It was like the gasp of air its been wanting. It wasn't sexual. It was just...what I had been needing.

I need to get out of the eggshell realm. I'm tired of people being afraid to move or breathe or touch me because they might make me think of something sad. I'm tired of people being afraid they will say or do the wrong thing. The reality is at some point we all say or do the wrong thing...even in "normal" life. We hurt people's feelings, say things that are filtered in a hurtful way, act selfishly, or try to help and end up hurting. That is the normal course of human beings. Yes, I'm raw, and that leaves a bigger chance of injury. Yes, I'm going to remember, be sad, cry, hurt beyond words, and even lash out in anger...I will also laugh, smile, thank God, and apologize...because sometimes it isn't about you, and I really am sorry. I am also pro-relationship, and if I trust your heart, I'm going to work it out with you. I need you to have enough faith in me to believe I will trust your heart and value you enough to walk through the pain for our friendship. Besides, my greatest sadness is that I don't feel I have anyone who wants to be close to me, that it is easier for people to stay on the other side of the window instead of coming in, moving laundry off the couch, and sitting with me...even if that is sitting in silence on the floor.

I started to say I need some alone time. Except when I am alone, all I see is the void and what isn't anymore, and I sit there, stare into the darkness, and feel overwhelmed by the loss. And, honestly, I'm alone all the time. What I need is someone who is courageous and unafraid of building in a void, and I need them courageous enough to build *my* new world, not theirs, and sometimes that will mean doing things they've never done. Sometimes it'll mean doing things neither of us have ever done...and finding the adventure exciting...even if the end result isn't what we expected.

I need someone...a group of some ones...to find me valuable enough to meet those needs.

And as I write this...as I force my fingers to write that last sentence...my heart is pounding, and I want to vomit...because what if no one does?

****I have chosen to write this post not only to express my needs, but for others...
...who have the same needs...and need someone to give them words...
...and for those who have no words but want to help...

For all of you, may God bless you...****

Let There Be Light

It really has been hard to pull myself out of this bout of emotional broohaha.

This morning I was praying about being in this "dark place", and God said, "So make some light," and I instantly had this picture of hitting two flint rocks together.

So now I'm asking what those "flint rocks" are. I'm thinking one may look like paint/games/kayaks and the other looks like people I love.

Walking Through Hell

Yesterday it became obvious. I am taking another trip through emotional hell. I love those. Not.

Yesterday I paid off the house. It is a good thing, a glorious thing, and Rob made sure I had the money from his life insurance to do that. However, I kept thinking of how we were going to do this together, and then we would travel, take pictures, and enjoy the rest of life. I almost didn't make it through the 30 minutes it took to finish the paperwork and wire the money. I was sobbing by the time I reached the van. I just sat there, with my head on the wheel, and cried.

Tonight the children and I are walking at Relay for Life. Our team is special this year. Everyone is either a cancer survivor or caregiver. It is a special team to be on. It is also hard. I miss my mom.

Tomorrow is our delayed family Easter dinner. I usually love these things because I have an incredibly cool family, but this year my thoughts and heart are heavy. Last year I knew Rob and I were coming apart, and I was at a loss of what to try now. Rob went to the dinner with us and pretty much isolated himself. He didn't want to play games. He didn't go outside with us for the Easter egg hunt. We have family pictures from last year with everyone in them...but him. I remember seeing him sitting in one of the stadium seats in the theatre room. That is the only place I remember seeing him last year. Will he still be sitting there when I walk in tomorrow?

This week is Anna's birthday. Yesterday I met one of Rob's friends--one of our family's friends--to order Anna's gift. Rob had it on his list on his computer. As dumb as it sounds, I can't bring myself to erase it. Anna is sort of dreading her birthday because Rob isn't here. I totally understand.

Next Sunday is Mother's Day. Not only do I have no one to buy a card for, but there is no one to take my children to buy a card or gift for me either, and they love to do that. The last text I have from Rob on my phone was sent the evening before he died in the night. It says, "Thank you for being such a great mom for our kids." It's my pleasure, Rob.

And my tears fell fat and hot yesterday, and they fall even as I type.

It is a very rare thing for me to want to drink myself into a place of oblivion to silence the noise of the last year or its effects right now, but yesterday was a rare day, and it is seeping into today.

However, instead of succumbing, I worked out yesterday morning, mowed a yard, walked nearly an hour last night, and spent time with my children. Today I will mow my yard, buy a new fridge since mine went out Monday and is not worthy of repair, and I'll reread the speeches I gave the last two years at Relay and the thoughts I jotted down in case I was asked to speak again this year and remember why I walk. And I will pack water bottles and snacks, put on my good walking shoes, and head to the track where hundreds are gathering to honor the lives of those they love--to mourn the ones lost, to encourage the ones still walking, to stare death in the face and declare, "I still believe in life."

And I do.

So I choose to keep walking.

Who I Really Am

One of the hard things about being separated and looking at the possibility of divorce is the change of identity and roles. Sometimes it is hard to get my feet under me concerning who I am and exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m a wife, but I’m not. I’m a single mom, but I’m not. I’ve always been the strong one that people depended on, and now, I feel like it is a great accomplishment to make sure we have three meals a day.

Most days I don’t feel like me, like the me I’ve been or the me I’ve wanted be. I’m not sure who this person is that cries so easily, struggles to battle feelings of rejection, and can’t function without a to do list. But surely, surely she isn’t really me.

This morning I lay in bed feeling heavy with the weight of everything, feeling like I’m fighting to get to get my feet under me, and I pray all I know to pray. “God, please give me a foundation to stand on because I’m sinking.”

I hope for a verse. Instead, I get love notes all day long.

(To read more, join me today at (in)courage .  Look forward to seeing you there.)

Resurrection, part 2

(Resurrection, part 1)

For years my goal had been to see my marriage healed and made whole. Now, I seemed to be adrift with no clear direction. I had no idea what I was supposed to do or what I was working toward.

I do.

“Lord, what is the desire of my heart?”

That is when I saw it.

Hanging down, snagged in the fork of a limb, a result of last night’s storms. The broken end close to the children’s swing set. A rather long limb big enough to do a lot of harm to any body, most certainly a child’s body.

Broken limbs. I sighed deep. A common occurrence in Texas in the spring. Not one I enjoyed, especially not now when I had to figure out how to get them to the ground.

Were there more?

I stood and turned to see the top of the house. Sure enough. Lying on the garage roof just hanging onto the electric wire a nice size one, too large to push off with the rake like I had last week’s sacrifice.

God, I don’t want to have to call anyone for help. Really? Was this necessary?

I studied the limb and remembered one of my favorite things: PVC pipe. I went to my extensive collection of pipe, found a long piece, attached a T-joint to the end, and put two short pieces on either side. I put the “T” end of the pipe against the limb and pushed.

The limb leaned, resisted, and suddenly flopped backward off the line. At least I wasn’t going to be a crispy critter today. How to get it down though?

Again, I studied the limb. What if I could…?

I shimmied the T into a fork of the limb, twisted it slightly, pulled gently…

Snagged.

Excellent. Just what I wanted.

Then I walked far from the wire, pulled the limb toward me, and ran when it fell off the house. One limb down. One to go.

Feeling proud of myself, I took my ingenious T pipe, put it against the bottom of the hanging limb, and pushed. The limb obviously had not been well advised because instead of popping up and falling out of the fork, it sort of grunted at me and didn’t budge.

Maybe I hadn’t pushed it far enough. I added to my length of pipe and pushed again. The limb still did not budge.

I stepped back and studied. I saw where a broken limb created a fork. Aha! I’ll snag that just like I did the other one, give a pull, and run when the limb tumbles down.

The snag was easy. The tug was easy. The top section of the pipe left hanging attached to the limb was unexpected.

I tried different angles, different pipe sizes, different everything I could think of. The limb did not budge.

Finally, I sat down.

I had spent who knows how long working on those limbs, and I hadn’t even had a chance to hear God, which is why I was out there anyway. And now, I had to cut up the limb from the house and still had to figure out how to get the limb out of the tree, and I didn’t want to call anyone because although I know God says He blesses people who take care of widows and orphans, I don’t want people getting blessed on my account.

Actually, that isn’t true. I don’t want to bother people or be a burden, and it’s only a limb for crying out loud.

A limb I couldn’t get down.

The rocker creak. I stared at the limb.

“God, really? Was this necessary today? What are You doing anyway?”

“Giving you the desires of your heart.”

I looked at the limb on the ground, and in an instant, I was over three decades away in a wooded area, my hands on the handle of a crosscut saw, my dad’s on the other handle. We were sawing up a tree for winter firewood. I wasn’t even in school yet, but Dad patiently taught me how to pull the saw, not push it, and when he carried big pieces of wood, I carried small ones. We spent many Saturday afternoons in the early fall felling trees, cutting them into woodstove size chunks, and splitting those with an axe.

It was one of my favorite things as a child. Dad and I spent time together, talked…as much as a preschooler and adult can, and were just there…together. I learned about teamwork and found out I could move big trees if they were cut into small enough pieces, and sometimes pieces were just too big for me, and Dad took care of those.

In another instant, I was back at the limb on the ground, the smell of cut wood floated around me, and the shwhoosh of a bow saw grinding its way through the flesh of the limb followed by the thwip of the back-pull kept my attention. Only this time, I wasn’t looking at my dad. I was looking at my daughter. A young lady in the becoming whose hands have never known a blister, much less a callous, with gloves on her hands and her hair pulled back into a ponytail, pushed and pulled  the saw in her grip, buckled the blade, and tried again. This time the coaching voice was mine.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw my son, tying another bundle tight, spool of twine and scissors at his feet.

I smile with pride.

They are learning…

…That hard work won’t kill, how to work as a team, that big things cut into small parts are manageable.

And we talk. We blurt out our frustrations. Buckled saw blades really can jerk the body hard. Limbs are not the most cooperative things ever. It’s not as hard as we thought it might be. By the way, did you know…? And, I was thinking…

In that instant I saw them.

The desires of my heart.

A family that understands the value of a team, embraces doing what needs to be done…even when it is hard or new, is prepared to face life whatever comes, and is sure they can move any obstacle as long as they get it into the right size pieces. My preparing them for when I’m no longer here and it is their turn to be the coaches. Life skills not discussed on a comfy couch but learned in life ways so they really mean something.

What was I to trust God to resurrect?

Our family.

Our sense of wholeness.

Our knowing we are a team.

Our ability to see obstacles and know there is a solution.

Our joy in being there…together.

My vision for how to get us where I want us to be and the wisdom to see prayers answered…even in the form of broken limbs.

Speaking of broken limbs, what about the one still hanging there?

I looked up, and I saw the answer: A rope with a loop on the end threaded through a long pipe. Use the pipe to place the loop around the broken part of the fork, give a hard tug, and run.

Yep, that should be fairly easy to do. In fact, we’d get it done later that afternoon…as a family…living the life I really wanted.